


want/need

by onlyinafigurativesense



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealous Dave, M/M, Minor Gamzee Makara/Tavros Nitram, Moirails With Pails, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Tentabulges, Xeno, kind of, mentions of Jade/Davesprite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyinafigurativesense/pseuds/onlyinafigurativesense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For some reason, you and Karkat work.</i>
</p>
<p><i>You're not sure what it is about him, but nothing seems to be able to come between the two of you- not the fighting, not the rudeness, not the immaturity or the name-calling or the pinching or the snatching or even the fact that he's sleeping with someone else.</i> </p>
<p>
  <i>You know, and he knows you know, because pretty much everyone knows about "the-awkward-Gamzee-thing".</i>
</p>
<p> <i>You knew before you started dating Karkat and you've known that it's continued after you got together because you told him you were fine with it.</i> </p>
<p>
  <i>You are fine with it.</i>
</p>
<p>... </p>
<p>
  <i>Really.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	want/need

Your name is Dave Strider and you are the luckiest goddamn guy on the planet.

You have a great job (that you love) with great pay (that you also love) and a pretty large fanbase (that loves you).

You've got a shitton of amazing friends who are all hella supportive of you and your music, as well as a steadily expanding (if somewhat non-traditional) family; the fact that these two groups overlap is not something that you are in any way opposed to.

After all, who _doesn't_ want to be best friends with their cousin's fiancé, who also happens to be their older brother's boyfriend's niece (that had been an interesting revelation since none of you realized the relations until after Byrd and Jade had already started dating; not sure how, since Byrd is basically a carbon copy of you if you ignore his red hair).

And on top of all that, you just finished moving into your sicknasty new apartment with your boyfriend, who (despite frequently saying the opposite) loves you and who you love more than anything in the whole world.

And it's good, it's really good, because you're young and healthy and so are your friends and you're all _alive_ which is something you're incredibly grateful for.

It doesn't hurt that the sex is great, either- as ornery and obstinate as Karkat is normally, he's so phenomenal in bed that you're willing to forgive the insults and arguments that frequently lead up to it.

(Usually)

((Always))

For some reason, you and Karkat _work_.

You're not sure what it is about him, but nothing seems to be able to come between the two of you- not the fighting, not the rudeness, not the immaturity or the name-calling or the pinching or the snatching or even the fact that he's sleeping with someone else.

You know, and he knows you know, because pretty much everyone knows about "the-awkward-Gamzee-thing".

You knew before you started dating Karkat and you've known that it's continued after you got together because you told him you were fine with it.

You are fine with it.

Really.

And yeah, maybe it kills you a little bit every time he goes, because you know when he comes back he'll be tired and sad and guilty looking and he'll smell like sex and he won't let you touch him until he's showered which is fine, it's all fine, and you tell him that but neither of you really believes it because there's a lot of things you feel about Karkat and jealousy is one of them.

You brush it off because you know how it feels to need Karkat and that's what he says every time: "He needs me."

There's a part of you that wants to ask if it's a mutual thing, if maybe he needs him, too, but you're scared of the answer so you never ask. Sometimes you want to say "So do I" but you know that if you did he'd get that pained look where he sort of crumples in on himself and that hurts more than staying quiet so of course you'll nod and he'll look relieved and-

"Yeah, of course. I'll be right there just- calm the fuck down, it's going to be okay. I'll see you in a minute."

You look up from where you were sprawled on the couch, trying to read but not really absorbing anything. He's putting his phone away and picking up his bag and you realize with dismay that he's going out.

"Again?" you ask, and he hesitates in a way that makes you wish you hadn't said anything.

"Yeah, it's- something happened with Tavros and his rotted-out pan can't cope so he's pitching some kind of fucking fit and-"

"It's fine," you say, and it must come out a little more tersely than you intend it to because he looks shocked and then hurt. He sets his bag down and kneels in front of you, taking your hand.

"Dave," he says pleadingly.

And you forgive him, of course you do, because it's not him that you're upset with.

You press a quick kiss to his knuckles and he visibly relaxes, squeezing your hand.

"Thank you," he whispers, and you shrug, lacing your fingers through his and sitting up, pulling him into your lap.

You rest your forehead against his, wrapping your arm around his waist and kissing his cheek.

"He's sharing too," you say. It's true, you think, it must be hard for him, too, even though-

"He's used to it," Karkat says, finishing your thought. "You're not, it's harder on you, I know it is, Dave, and I'm sorry because you don't deserve-"

You silence him with a kiss, cupping his cheek and sucking at his lower lip when you pull away. He sighs and you kiss him again, nipping at him playfully. He links his arms around you and smiles, and you nuzzle against him, kissing at his neck. He makes a little 'mmn' noise and tilts his head, his fingers tangling in your hair. You suck at his neck and you get an idea that's simultaneously really good and really bad. You know you probably shouldn't but you want to mark him as yours so you suck hard just above his collarbone and he moans your name, tugging at your hair. The tugging becomes more insistent when you don't stop, the moans turning to a whine and then a whimper until he finally yanks so hard on your hair that you let off. You start to lick at the spot but he pushes you away, giving you a look that makes your stomach drop because Jesus Christ you went way too far and fuck, you think maybe you hurt him.

He stands up, shouldering his bag and heading towards the door, shaking his head when you move to follow him.

"Kitkat, babe-"

"I have to go."

"I didn't mean to-"

"Yes you did."

"I'm sorry, okay? Please, don't leave-"

"I have to." He hesitates, then adds, "He needs me."

And there it is again. Those three words that get to you every time because you know what, fuck it, you need him, too, and right now you need him to understand that you're sorry, so goddamn sorry and you tell him that and he says "I know."

"No, you don't, Karkat, please-"

"Dave, it's okay. I know you would never..."

He sighs, giving you an apologetic look that makes you feel even worse because he has nothing to apologize for. "I'll be back in a few hours."

And then he's gone.

 

 

You're still sitting on the couch when he comes home three hours later. He smells like pot and sugar and sweat that isn't his own but you kiss his forehead anyway and he doesn't protest, he just says he's tired and needs a bath.

"Sit with me?" he asks.

You're surprised but you nod, following him into the bathroom.

You turn on the water, helping him out of his clothes as the tub fills up. He lifts his arms and you pull his tank top over his head, unbuttoning his shorts so he can step out of them. He tugs his underwear down off his hips and tosses them to the floor, sliding his bracelets off his wrists and letting them drop onto the tile before stepping into the tub. He sinks down to his collarbones, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. You sit on the edge of the tub, stroking his hair and pushing it back off his forehead. You run the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

"This is such a shitty, fucked up situation," he says, covering your hand with his own.

"It's not your fault," you say, and he shakes his head, leaning back against the porcelain and sighing.

"It is, though, because I'm an inconsiderate asshole who's too cowardly to even consider choosing between the two of you and I'm too selfish to let either of you go."

He looks up at you and you're surprised to see that he's tearing up, translucent red gathering in the corners of his eyes and threatening to spill over.

"Karkat- Karkat, baby, what is it?" you ask, stroking his cheek, but he shakes his head again, sniffling and biting his lip, unable to hold back the tears any longer. You take his face in your hands, kissing his forehead and he clings to you, shoulders trembling as he cries into your shirtfront.

"I'm so sorry," he chokes out, and you rub his back, struggling to hold him and also keep yourself from falling fully clothed into the tub.

"It's okay," you say soothingly. "It's okay, I promise, you don't have to apologize for anything, okay?"

He sniffles again, releasing his hold on you to sit back and wipe at his eyes. He glances up at you when you sit up and lets out a sad sort of almost-laugh.

"What?" you ask, and he gestures to your shirt.

"You're soaked," he says.

You glance down and realize he's right- between the tears and bathwater there's barely a dry spot left on your shirt.

"Oh," you say, and he reaches over, tugging the hem up.

You pull it off over your head, tossing it over by his clothes. He wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your side and effectively soaking the waistband of your jeans. You pet his hair absentmindedly and he purrs, nudging his head up into your hand. You glance down at him and smile, rubbing at the base of his horns and making the purring increase in volume. You disentangle yourself from his grip, standing up despite his whines of protest.

"What are you doing?" he asks, leaning his elbows on the edge of the tub.

"You're getting my jeans all wet," you say, pulling off your belt.

He watches as you shimmy out of your jeans, kicking them over by his clothes. He purses his lips, then says, "Boxers, too."

You raise an eyebrow at him and he mirrors your expression, motioning for you to hurry up and strip. You do, and you're half-tempted to throw your underwear at him but something about the way he's looking at you makes you skip the silliness and instead cross back over to the bathtub. He scoots forward and you climb in behind him, letting him lie back against your chest, the top of his head barely reaching your chin.

"You know I love you, right?" he asks softly, his fingers lacing through yours under the water.

You press a kiss to the back of his shoulder, wrapping your arm around him.

"Of course," you say, pulling him flush against your chest. He presses your hand to his side, shuddering as your fingertips slide over the scars running along his ribs.

"And- and you love me, too?" he asks, guiding your other hand down to the slit between his legs.

You nod, pressing your fingers against his grub scars and making him arch back against you.

"Love you," you whisper into the crook of his neck, kissing his skin tenderly as your fingers explore the opening of his nook. His breath hitches, his hands still guiding your movements even as he gasps and presses down against your fingers.

"Sh- show me," he instructs you breathlessly, rocking against your hand. You rub at the outer folds of him gently, your fingertips barely breaching him before pulling away to tease at his readily unsheathing bulge. It wraps around your wrist, tightening when you run your finger along the entrance of his nook, slipping it inside him. You pump the digit in and out of him, revelling in the sounds escaping him as his head tips back against your shoulder, his cheeks flushed and his little chest heaving as he pants, each breath accompanied by a quiet whimper. His hand tightens on the back of yours as you stroke his grub scars, making him gasp.

"M-more," he demands. You comply willingly, pressing a second finger into him and scissoring them inside of him.

"Fuck... fuck yes, Dave-" he moans, forcing your fingers deeper into him. "Please," he gasps out. "I need you."

Your breath catches in your throat. He needs you.

You nod, helping him turn around, pulling him into your lap. He whimpers when you enter him, and you murmur comfortingly against his skin, whispering quiet 'I love you's into his neck as you move together, his arms around you and your hands pressed against his back, cradling him against you. It's soft and it's gentle and it's perfect and it builds slowly until he's arching into you, moaning your name as he comes, his voice triggering your own release. He falls forward against your chest, panting, and that's when you notice the bruise on his neck from earlier. You feel a twinge of guilt as your fingers brush over it, prompting him to look up at you, eyes glazed, his cheeks still flushed. He presses a tender kiss to your lips, pulling away slowly.

"Love you," he whispers, nuzzling against you.

"Love you more," you respond, and he looks almost sad.

"Love you most."

You stroke his hair and he lies back against you, his breathing matching yours. You go to kiss his neck but freeze, staring at his skin. There's a matching hickey on the other side.

_He needs me._

Karkat glances up at you, nudging his head into your hand. "Dave?" he asks, concern written plainly across his features.

_I need you._

You shake your head, blinking and forcing a smile. "Sorry. Zoned out for a second."

He smiles fondly at you, settling back into the curve of your body. He traces little circles on the back of your neck with his fingertips, sighing contentedly. "M'tired..."

"C'mon," you say, helping him out of the tub and wrapping him up in a towel, drying yourself off as well.

You follow him into the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and pulling him into your arms, tugging the blankets up over your intertwined bodies. He's warm and soft and real and you fit together perfectly, like you were made to.

He's asleep in moments, his soft purring filling the silence.

You don't realize you're crying until you feel the hot tears sliding down your face.

"I love you," you whisper into his hair. "I love you, god, I love you."

You need him.


End file.
